


For a Good Cause

by blessedharlot



Series: Morgan's Bodyguard [2]
Category: The Great Library Series - Rachel Caine
Genre: Age Difference, F/M, Fucking, Masochism, PIV Sex, Pain, Painplay, Poly Morgan, Sin Universe, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-26
Updated: 2019-06-26
Packaged: 2020-05-19 23:10:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19365637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blessedharlot/pseuds/blessedharlot
Summary: Morgan continues to explore what Vittorio can provide her, especially when it comes to pain.





	For a Good Cause

For the week after their rather intimate business meeting - as Morgan had come to call it - she and Captain Santi had had a rather unremarkable time of it.

She’d certainly felt more at ease right after their explosive work that night, and the following days saw her job duties go more smoothly as well. In that time, he’d offered her deference, aloofness, and smooth, impersonal supervision of her safety as they went about their days.

These last two days, though, Morgan had felt pressure mounting again. It had been too long since she’d heard from Jess; she hadn’t even had the chance to debrief him on her experience with Vittorio. And while this mission she now wrapped up would be a success, the next would be physically grueling, and would challenge her personally. She wasn’t looking forward to it. As her tension grew, Morgan wondered if he was reading her cues. She felt Santi crack a few more mild jokes than before, and twice in private he’d briefly laid a soft hand on her shoulder.  Perhaps that had been an invitation, she wasn’t sure. But she’d decided not to pursue it.

Today she wanted to crawl out of her skin, in general, and she really didn’t know what to do with him in particular. Which was unfortunate, since she spent most of her waking day near him.

“Can’t fathom how they built elevators into so many buildings so fast,” Santi said, as they descending back down to her quarters. “Never will get used to them.”

Morgan bit back an acerbic comment about her experience of elevators in the Iron Tower. He was just making small talk, he didn’t deserve to have his head bitten off. She didn’t want to be as brutal as she ached to be. The stony silence wasn’t much more polite, but she felt less rude about that. It was late, she just needed sleep.

He registered her silence on his face, she could tell. But she couldn’t read how he felt about it.

“Off to the next mission tomorrow,” he continued. “I expect you’ll be eager to move on.”

Morgan had simply nothing polite to spare about her feelings lately, so she thought it best to avoid the subject.

“When does the transportation officer have us leaving?” Morgan asked.

“Five thirty in the morning,” Captain Santi replied. As she groaned, he added, “you get to sleep in a bit.”

"The one thing I've never understood about you soldier types," she said, shaking her head.

"Just the one thing?"

"It’s absurd how early you start your days. Willingly, even. Fine, get a good start, but the work will still be there when the sun comes up, for God's sake. Jess was High Garda for five whole minutes, he still wakes about 4am every morning. It’s absurd."

Santi was silent, an amused look on his face.

"Of course," she added, "he did already do that most of the time." 

"A good time of day to smuggle books, I expect. Those who might chase him might not have had our tea yet."

Santi so rarely made reference to her broader reputation, or that of her friends. She wondered why he brought up the Jess’ criminal past now.

_ His hair looks so nice, _ she thought. It was still just as long as it always was -- a tidy but full cut, more than Nic ever dared. It must be perilously close to being nonregulation, and had been every day of their acquaintance so far. Yet it hadn’t seemed to get any longer in that time. It just teased the edge of his collar in the back, and ruffled softly in strong wind. The thick, warm black streaks amidst gunmetal gray just begged to be tousled every time she saw it.  _ It was quite inappropriate of him to be that handsome _ , she thought.

“How is Jess?” Captain Santi asked.

“Don’t know,” she tried not to snarl. “Communication blackout."

Santi nodded. He had his assessing look on, and she was in no mood to be read. She glared back at him as long as she dared without feeling like a wretched, spoiled brat, then looked away.

He filled the silence. "Annis has your team compiling a second packet of background research on the next mission, built from the questions you had at their briefing. I could make sure they have that ready for your travel tomorrow, if you like.”

She’d just met with her team early this evening. They’d have plenty of work ahead to them to prepare that for her. The thought of keeping someone up all night on her behalf nearly felt good - no, it felt like a release valve on her tension, just to punish someone - and Morgan immediately felt a bit nauseous. That was a petty, pathetic use of power and she didn’t want to be that kind of leader.

Morgan rubbed her neck, and shook her head.

“Just let them rest,” she said. 

After a moment, he frowned thoughtfully and nodded.

“Though that briefing was abysmal,” she added. “They've should have given Annis much more to begin with. Had I offered something of that nature to Scholar Wolfe as a postulant, he would have had me for breakfast.”

Santi smirked. Being Nic’s brother, the captain no doubt had plenty of experience with Christopher Wolfe’s demanding disposition.

“In their defense, there’s a great deal we don’t know yet about the situation,” Santi offered. And after a pause he spoke again. "And Scholar Wolfe would have just found another reason to terrify you."

A prevaricating head bob was as much good humor as Morgan could muster. It wasn’t much.

Once he looked away, she enjoyed staring at his broad shoulders for a moment, and wondered again what tattoos he might have. He was a career soldier, he had to have some. Morgan was careful to look away before he was likely to see her. She’d practiced her decorous leering a bit of late.

They left the elevator and he escorted her to her quarters. Morgan walked past him and entered her central chamber while Santi stood in the anteroom, performing his nightly ritual of receiving a daily report from her various security teams. 

As she waited just inside her study, listening to the comforting sound of his voice giving orders for tomorrow, Morgan had a realization about her bad mood. The mission ahead presented a very specific - and very dangerous - personal temptation. She worried if she was up for resisting it.

When Santi stepped into her study, she thought of something that might help her.

“The next mission,” Morgan began. “I’ll need extra nutrition every day. High on calories, high on protein. The typical ration bars are fine if nothing else is available.”

Santi looked attentive and deferent, but the soft lines on his brow got a bit sharper. He wasn’t clear why she was requesting the extra food. 

“I’ll be mending a fair portion of the weakened - no, make that nonexistent - alchemical infrastructure myself.”

Santi's brow creased more deeply and he opened his mouth, but she cut him off with a wave and a sharp tone.

“It might as well be me, Captain. I’ll accomplish more than anyone else would, even if I follow Eskander’s protocols.”

“You do mean *when* you follow Eskander’s protocols?” he said, an edge of scolding on his voice.

It was Morgan’s greatest fear - the ease with which she could undo all she’d worked for, pushing herself too far for her good cause and damaging herself beyond repair in the process. The thought haunted her.

Still. Santi didn’t need to name it for her.

“I’ll do as I see fit, Captain,” Morgan growled. “And it’s not your choice to make.”

“And the choice you’ll be making, ma’am, it’ll be for the greater good? To take proper care of those who depend on you?” he asked, raising his eyebrows impertinently.

“What else would my motivation be?” she demanded.

Santi leaned in close.

“If I thought for one moment that you were making choices purely out of a desire to feel competent at a job that overwhelms you, I’d have you over my knee to spank you.”

Morgan jaw dropped.

“Of course, I might do that for no reason at all,” he added.

“Oh, will you?” Morgan had intended an affronted, taunting tone to her voice. But the statement was no such thing. It was a breathless request.

Santi stared at her, that quiet calculus of assessment going on in the eye contact he bored into her, and it infuriated Morgan. She couldn’t take it any longer.

“Get out,” Morgan said quietly.

“Yes, Obscurist Magnus.”

Without a word he spun, left and closed the door behind him.

Morgan felt strangely deflated.

  
  
  
  


The day of travel that followed started early and ran late. The Obscurist Magnus and Captain Santi had returned to their cool, decorous default with one another. When they paused traveling for the night, their party filled a small inn - well secured by an advance team - and Morgan headed straight for a bath. She felt grimy and wound up and… she didn’t even know what.

_ I bet this is what Jess feels like when he needs to run _ , she thought.  _ If I had a single shred of a desire to run, I think I’d get up right now and do it for hours. _

The bath soothed for an instant or two, but by the time she impatiently wrapped a silk robe around her slightly damp body, she was just as tense as before. 

She headed back out into the room serving as her study today, and ran her fingers over the nearest book cover absentmindedly.  

There was a knock at the door to her rooms.

She wasn’t in the mood for anyone else. She wasn’t even dressed. It had better be him.

Morgan padded to the door and stood at it.

“Who is it?” she called.

His voice came through the door. “Santi.”

She unlocked the door and let him slip in without showing off her undressed state to anyone else.

She closed the thick door firmly, and turned around to find Santi’s eyes lingering on the shape of her ass under the thin silk. He looked up then, and in every other way was aloof and professional.

“We're settled in here,” Santi said. "You can take your leisure until tomorrow morning."

His hair was damp, she realized. He’d showered. At some point since they’d arrived he’d taken a precious five minutes away from his myriad duties and showered. 

_ So he knew. _

Morgan wet her lips, pushing away nervousness in hopes it wouldn’t show.

“Captain, are you available now for the meeting we discussed in my study yesterday?” she asked with a stone face.

“I am,” he said mildly, with no hint that he’d foreseen her asking for it.

Morgan turned again and locked the door.

“We'll need a silencing ward placed for that meeting, Obscurist Magnus,” Santi politely informed her. He remained in his attentive professional stance but his voice had a touch of honey to it.

“May I draw from you?” she asked.

“Of course.”

Morgan stepped close to him to make contact to draw energy for the ward.  

As she pondered where on him to put her hands, Santi quite matter-of-factly reached for the tie on her robe, as if to make a gentle little adjustment. 

Then the silk slipped away from her shoulders and she stood naked in front of him.

For one instant, Morgan expected him to grab her, to take her off guard. That was his style before, and she braced for a grope or a grab… to be pressed against his uniform again. 

But it didn’t come. It seemed it would be her choice where she made contact for the energy she needed. His hair was tempting. Very tempting. But if she touched fingers to his hair now, Morgan knew she’d never get the silencing ward up. And for this activity… she really didn’t trust herself to keep quiet.

She put a hand to the front of each of his shoulders, which was apparently one of the less disorienting places to draw from. Morgan pulled as delicately as she could -- she felt quite skilled at taking only what she needed, and gently. Soon she had the energy tied to the proper scripts, and folded them neatly into the ward all around the room.

She put her hands down, and turned back toward Santi with a nod.

“That was quick,” he said.

“I started writing it before my bath.”

In response to that, his gaze intensified. His mouth curled at one edge, and suddenly he appeared to be all satisfaction and lust. The subtle, intoxicating leer felt like a prize she'd won to see it, to earn it.

“Are you feeling well enough to continue right now?” she asked, still attempting their businesslike mode.

He immediately slipped one arm around her waist, drew her easily into him and lifted her up, his breath hot on her cheek, carrying her toward some suitable location in her chambers.

Deciding what to do with her arms as they traveled felt to Morgan like deciding an agenda for the whole evening.  She could, if she wanted to, finally luxuriate in his hair. But that felt so very tender, and she didn’t want tenderness yet. She could fight back against his embrace. It wouldn’t be the more even matching that she had in her wrestling matches with Jess, as delightful as that sweating and strategizing always was.  Morgan imagined that struggling against Captain Santi - when he knew she didn't really want him to stop - would be a deliciously fruitless action on her part. They’d gotten only a taste of that in their last encounter, before her need for release overwhelmed her.

Instead of either one of those, she found herself simply cradling his muscular shoulders, wondering again what tattoos graced the skin underneath his uniform.

He dropped her onto her feet next to an overstuffed couch in the study, and backed away to sit down on the edge of the couch. He sniffed and exhaled, his gaze starting at her feet and slowly traveling up to her eye.

“Assume the position we discussed previously.” It was a quiet, very clear command.

Morgan felt a certain level of astonishment at his gall. “Excuse me?”

Captain Santi -  _ Vittorio _ , she reminded herself, he had instructed her to call him Vittorio when she was undressed - Vittorio showed the tiniest flash of cold, still anger in his eyes. Nic had that same look.

“You heard me,” he said.

“I... thought you’d place me."

“You asked for this, Morgan. Now you put yourself down properly for it.”

Her cheeks felt hot at the use of her first name.  _ That’s so personal _ , she thought

“That’s not very dignified,” she muttered.

“Did you think you’d lay over my knee like a queen?”

His eyes were hard and his demeanor cold.

As gracefully as she could muster - which wasn’t very gracefully - she swung herself down to lay her abdomen across his lap… breasts hanging off one side of him, and ass hanging off the other. This wasn’t meant to be comfortable for her. He was so far off the couch that she had nowhere to put her weight except balancing it on his thighs -- which were nothing but taut, powerful muscles that had no give under her belly.

There was no couch below her to lean on; he sat too near the edge. Again she struggled with what to do with her arms, other than wrap them around her torso… the thought of which felt distasteful. It emphasized the vague sense of… what? 

Debasement? Shame? Those weren’t quite right somehow.

Once she’d placed herself as best she could in this posture, Vittorio finally shifted, and everything changed. His thighs were a softer, wider base below her. An arm circled her hips and cradled them. With his shoulder repositioned like that, she had a natural place to put her forearms -- one on his thick calf, and one across his flank. Brushing her arm across the more vulnerable, exposed side of his torso brought an absurd flash of a feeling of intimacy with him… more absurd for the fact that her ass felt very much on display, under his now wandering hand.

Vittorio brushed the skin of one of her ass cheeks, and then the other… like slowly rubbing in a soft lotion, or as though he was inspecting her. He did it quietly, with the distinct impression that he’d forgotten her other end. 

Then he kneaded one cheek and the other, almost dutifully, rolling across the deeper muscles first in one direction, and then another. 

She felt a finger slip through her wet labia and pull back, and heard him murmur.

“Mhm,” he said knowingly.

He put his palm back on her ass and stilled it.

“Morgan,” he said quietly.

She turned her head over her shoulder, eyes downcast to his torso, for some reason she didn’t fathom. His lips brushed her ear.

“I’m going to strike you for as long as I desire to,” Vittorio said. He sounded like Nic explaining a training exercise. “You may make any noise you wish. But getting in my way - either by moving away or by blocking my hand with other body parts - is as good as telling me to stop. I will not resume.”

Morgan’s heart sunk at the thought of him stopping once he’d started. That simply could not happen. She’d do anything to avoid it.

“Do you understand?” he asked.

She nodded vigorously.

“Yes,” she heard herself say in a small voice.

“Yes what?”

“Yes, thank you, Vittorio,” she said involuntarily, and then gasped.

“Good girl.”

His first blow landed quick and brutal, and shocked her deeply. Her eyes watered, her lungs felt empty and panic surged through her. 

She wouldn’t last many blows like that one.  This might all end with her more wound up and her head more intolerable than ever before. This was an absurd amount of trust to have given someone she’d only met, no matter who his family was.

Before the first strike had faded from her skin memory, there came a long volley of quick, softer blows. Those that hit untouched skin were brisk and invigorating. But any force that landed where that first blow had, that burned like Greek fire.

She shivered, and braced herself more fully against him.

Vittorio stopped, squeezing the cheek that had taken the most of the first blow.

“Alright?” he asked.

“Fuck off,” Morgan muttered, reverting to English.

“... is that a yes or a no?” he said in their shared Greek.

“I’m fine,” Morgan said in Greek. “Please keep going.”

She gasped immediately after speaking, as though a part of her was shocked at her answer.

He rubbed circles into her ass with his flat hand, like he was savoring, or winding up. She felt his hand leave and she flinched, just waiting for the blow.

And then it didn’t come.

Morgan took a breath, and then another, coiling tighter and tighter from the tension when no blow came.

“Fuck off!” she finally screamed at him.

Then he landed it -- a sharp strike across both cheeks.

He went back to rubbing.

“Now, there’s a proper curse,” Vittorio said.

“Oh, was my first one not passionate enough for you?”

“It really and truly was not,” Santi said. “You sounded exasperated, like I’d merely cut the queue in front of you at the market.”

“You-”

He started striking again. Once she stopped flinching she realized they were short, small strokes, as though he wasn’t using his whole hand. The discomfort was minor at first, but he was striking quickly, and not stopping, and the sting was growing. And growing. And there wasn’t an inch of her ass that he *wasn’t* striking with his quick work, he was going so fast and no skin had the chance to recover and she refused to give him the satisfaction of reacting to these tiny little blows except that the pain was becoming overwhelming and-

She finally cried out… a tiny little squeal. But she was so angry that she’d done it.

Morgan thought she’d earned a rest, and then he landed three more hard, sharp blows, all in one place. She howled.

“Have I not been clear?” he asked. “You’re not setting the agenda here. I’m amusing myself. Scream, don’t scream. Cry, don’t cry. Your choices don’t matter… unless you get in my way.”

She involuntarily convulsed, though it wasn’t quite an orgasm yet. 

He struck her again. Hard. She bit back a sob and steeled herself to take more.

He moved off the raw skin of her cheeks then, and landed several quick blows on the top few inches of her thighs. The skin was less worn there, at least, but it didn’t have the endurance that the nearby plumper parts did. Her thighs immediately stung like they’d been sliced open.

He paused only a little after the first four or five thigh strikes, and started back up with another slow, steady, tense rhythm on them. Morgan struggled to keep her breathing in check and tensed every muscle in her body against the pain.

“I’m told tensing makes it hurt more,” he said, not slowing his short strikes.

She bit back a barrage of epithets she wanted to scream at him, at his brother, at his whole family, at anyone who had ever known him. She gripped his calf and his hip even tighter, resolute that she would make no noise at least until he stopped again.

He finally stopped.

Morgan took in one shuddering breath. And then another. 

Then choked sobs she didn’t understand began to shake their way up from deep down. She tried to get control over them, as she felt him rubbing her ass again. 

She finally just held her breath to try and stop the sobs.

Vittorio moved his bracing arm to wrap around her shoulders instead of her hips. Then he started on her ass again. Slow, solid slaps, with his hand staying in contact with her at the end of each blow until he had to pull back again to hit her.

His booming swing radiated through her this way, like ocean waves. The choked tears started falling freely, and she took in slow, steady breaths as she cried. She stopped bracing herself taut against him and let herself melt into his arms, crying softly into his bicep. 

He kept spanking as he leaned toward her ear, and took her earlobe between his lips. He kept spanking as she leaned into him, and he put a wet kiss on the tender skin behind her ear. He kept up the rhythm as he kissed down the length of her neck.

At last, the tears slowed. And then he slowed, and began rubbing more and more in between strokes, finally coming to rest his hand in a caressing pattern on her rawest skin.

Vittorio sighed loudly, with a satisfied air.

“Your skin marks so beautifully, Morgan.”

She was flying high, still sniffling.

“You never once got in my way,” he marveled, stroking her hair.

“You said you would stop if I did!” Morgan blubbered into his arm.

“Well, I was going to give you one warning,” he relented with a smile. “Maybe more. But you didn’t need them.” He kissed her temple.

Morgan shifted herself around, intending to get more of her body close to his lips - she wasn't even sure yet what parts - but instead she bonelessly slinked to the floor between his legs.

“Ohimè!” Vittorio said mildly, as he caught her.

Pressing up on her knees, Morgan made an effort to pick up her shoulders to get them closer to his. To reach his face. To reach his hair. To reach his lips, his tongue. 

Morgan managed to hold herself upright long enough to find his face again, despite feeling heavily intoxicated. She put one arm around his shoulders, in hopes that would keep her from slipping back down the floor. Then she studied his face, looking back at her. She traced his lips. She traced the line of his jaw under his late-day stubble, like his brother’s. She traced his eyebrows and enjoyed his bright green eyes smiling at her.

Morgan reached for his hair. 

The second the fingers of one hand slipped into it, they both gave out a tiny, breathy moan. His hair was soft as silk, and her strokes through it had Vittorio's face softening, his eyes and head softly rolling backwards to her rhythm. 

"You like that," Morgan whispered.

Vittorio nodded as he slowly brought his face and attention away from her hands and back to her face.

"I'm a simple man," he said.

Morgan sunk both hands into his hair and reached her lips toward his, pausing for a moment to enjoy the heat of his breath escaping in a staccato rhythm.

She didn’t know enough about his tongue, she decided right then.

Before long Vittorio drew her in close, solid arms wrapped around her, and her tongue met his in wet, sloppy kisses.

She floated on the buzz of the fading blows, on the joy of his hair and tongue and arms and the feel of her breasts against the buttons of his-

Morgan's eyes flung open and she pushed herself out of the kiss, staring at him in shock. 

He looked curious, no doubt waiting to see how her actions would unfold. 

Only then did she process input she'd taken in at the height of his spanking: the arm around her shoulder had the sleeve rolled up, and there was an extraordinary tattoo on that forearm. She pulled further away, found that arm and turned it over in her hands. 

There was a rosary curled around it. 

Vittorio had the most exquisitely rendered beads circled around his arm, black and gray shading highlighted by a drop of white in each one. It shone in the light just like a well-loved strand of beads would, with intricate scrollwork in the small medals and cross as well.

She traced the curve of it with her fingertip and marveled at the work.

Then she looked up at him through her lashes, giving him a hard stare.

He grinned indulgently.

And when Morgan reached for his collar, Vittorio didn't stop her.

She unfastened his shirt collar, and worked her way down carefully, unsure what to do to keep a High Garda uniform in proper condition. But she was slowly, slowly revealing his warm, tight chest… soft silver and black hair following the contours of the curves. Less than Nic's, she thought. Different scars. There was something written in small print down the center of his chest, in a language Morgan didn't yet know. Cursive Arabic, she thought. 

He helped her shrug off the shirt, then he leaned back and sighed with ease.

There were other tattoos to explore, but Morgan was getting distracted.

Morgan ran her hands across his hips and flat stomach, which vibrated a bit under her fingers as she stroked at the hair just above his belt buckle. That emboldened her to simply rest her hand on the trouser bulge beneath the buckle, already rock hard and twitching under her touch.

_ Okay below the waist I've got no real basis for comparison with Nic, _ she thought.  _ Which is kind of a shame. _

She lifted the buckle and worked the mechanism, shivering all over as the belt gave to her pull. Now motivated to move much more quickly, she dropped it the belt to the floor as fast as she could and raced to get his trousers unfastened.

Vittorio, still lounging against the couch, casually lifted his hips and she pulled trousers and undergarment down to his thighs, revealing the delightful tool he'd used so expertly to disregard her once before -- full and unyielding, now pressing against his stomach.

Morgan brought his clothes down to his calves, and then whimpered in disappointment. 

His damned boots lay between her and his full nudity. 

She'd never pulled High Garda boots off before and she didn't really feel up to the job right now, half out of her head with pain and arousal.

Just then Vittorio leaned forward, looked at her, and chuckled. 

"You make the most heavenly sounds, dear," he said, as he made quick work of his boots, threw his clothes to the side and gathered her into his arms.

She scrabbled immediately into his lap, reached for his cock and slid herself onto it without asking.

She whimpered again as her ass cheeks pressed firmly against his thighs.

"Oh,” he grunted. “Is this next on the agenda then, Obscurist?" 

Morgan couldn't find words, but nodded, shifting herself up and down to feel him fill her up and slide back out. Each time she deliberately brushed that tender, beaten skin against him. The echoes of each blow were fading but still present… radiating up her spine, thrust by thrust. That was the first orgasm.

She leaned in for a kiss from him as she kept working. Now in no hurry - he wouldn’t go anywhere until she’d had what she wanted - her tongue lingered on his lips, thrusting in time to her hips.

More orgasms came and went, and Morgan put her hands back in his hair, stroking and tugging very gently as they kissed langorously. Vittorio’s breath got ragged, and his hands traveled up and down her back, tracing patterns and petting her softly.

She took his head into both hands and tilted him to open up his neck to kisses, starting at his collarbone and slowly working her way up.

When Morgan reached his earlobe, Vittorio let out the smallest gasp. She nearly pulled away, startled at his soft response, but instead kept her tongue engaged with the soft flesh she’d found, and watched as goose bumps rose and fell across his neck.

He pulled back himself, reaching to brush his curled fingers against her cheek. His eyes were out of focus at first, drinking her in. Then he snapped back from somewhere and looked at her clear-eyed.

“Okay,” he said, with some mild regret about it. “I’m going to come soon.”

“Come inside me,” Morgan asked.

For an instant, he put his full assessment look on, and then it was gone. 

“You like that,” he said, as a statement of fact. There was now a spark of conspiratorial defiance she rather enjoyed in his eyes. “Proving something, are we?” he said with a smile.

She held his gaze calmly, and his smile widened. 

“Excellent,” he said. “How do you want it? Hard, harder, hardest?”

“How do you prefer it?” Morgan asked. “Do it that way.”

Vittorio gave her a questioning look, as though he were mildly surprised. Then he stroked her cheek again and easily picked her up. 

She enjoyed the excuse to simply press her whole torso against his as he carried her, breastbone speaking subtly to breastbone for the span of a breath.

Then he had pressed her against something, and she arched away - to get her balance, and to manage a new set of sensations on her very sore ass.

She was now perched on the roll of a rolltop desk in this rented study. While the wood was cool and strangely comforting against her hot skin, it was also hard, with ridges that found every burst blood vessel and every abraded bit of flesh and poked at them incessantly as she shifted.

He brushed her against the desk to pull her back into a good position, his eyes sparkling at every moan of arousal the pain brought out of her.

“Gesù Cristo,” he marveled. “You’re a raging masochist, aren’t you? We’ll have to address that better next time.”

“Better?” she gasped. “My ass says you’ve addressed it pretty well.”

“Oh,” he said blankly. “Is that all you can take, then?”

_ Fuck off _ , Morgan thought. 

“Certainly not,” she said out loud, even more aroused now, and terrified. 

He grinned at her wickedly.

“That’s a claim to investigate another time,” he said dismissively. Then he pulled her ass down the desk a few more inches to put her back on his cock.

Vittorio reached both hands up to her face again, hands wrapped around the back of her head. It was a cradle, a caress, and it put her face - no, she thought, her eyes - right where he could focus on them best as he came.

He thrust from there - a rather gentle thrust - but his gaze bored into her, pulling a level of arousal out of him that she hadn’t seen so clearly last time. Vittorio shivered in her arms, and his chest rumbled in the gentlest, quietest low growl she’d ever heard.

_ I bet this is how Thomas comes, _ Morgan thought with surprise.  _ All that animal instinct and raw power just curled up in the tenderest package. _

Vittorio kept coming, and Morgan kept watching, and at the last, he leaned his forehead against hers and gave a little whimper. She stroked his hair some more, and they stay there for a moment in each others’ arms as he caught his breath. 

Morgan, still feeling floaty, felt herself sink into his arms. When she came to, she was in the room next door, on her bed for the night.

Would their intimate encounters always end with her practically unconscious? She wondered.

She was next aware of Vittorio being next to her, and moving away. As he left the bed, she realized he had a very large tattoo across most of his back. It went blurry as soon as he was more than a couple of feet away, but she thought she got a flash of what it was.

"Vittorio!" She said in surprise.

"Yes, I know, dear," he said. "I'll bring it back for you to have a look in just a moment."

“I was…” Morgan started. She tried to wander toward more words.

“You were distracted by my front?”

“Yes. Indeed.”

“Mhm. It happens.”

She closed her eyes and lost track of where he was. Then he lay behind her, and gently stroked and prodded her raw flesh. Finally he really did rub something into her ass cheeks that stung a bit… but then it soothed with a slight tingling, numbing sensation.

Soon she was wrapped in blanket and he lay in front of her again, looking at her.

Morgan stared back. Then she made a spin gesture with her finger.

“Ah yes!” He said, and he spun himself around.

“They are,” she gasped. “They’re wings.”

Two wings spread across most of his back: the wing scapulars fitting over his own shoulder blades, the covert feathers reaching just a bit down toward his triceps, and the bulk of the flight feathers spread gracefully down his back. Some feathers were a deep black, and yet still carefully detailed. Others were brighter, with that same hint of white that made it look like the sun followed Vittorio to illuminate his wings.

“That’s extraordinary,” she breathed. “It’s magnificent. I love it.”

“Thank you,” he said quietly, reaching around his flank to touch her fingertips while she took in the details. 

“What kind of bird?” she asked.

“A little of this one, a little of that one. They’re a reference to my middle name. And a few other things.”

“What’s your middle name?” Morgan asked.

“Gabriel.”

“The archangel,” Morgan mused. “‘Do not be afraid, you have found favor with God.’”

“‘Ecco la serva del Signore,’” Vittorio replied as he rolled over. “‘I am the handmaiden of the Lord.’”

“How long have you had it?”

“Not long. I’d imagined it for decades, but I had it inked last year.”

“What was the inspiration to finally do it?”

He brushed softly at her hair again and his mouth got tight at the edges.

“I will tell you, but it’s a story for another time.”

He fussed with Morgan’s blanket, bringing it closer in around her, and then laid an arm across her.

“You take such good care of me,” she mused.

He smiled. “I’m just an old whore with a chance to support some…” he brushed her hair out of her eyes. “... some truly good forces in this world, this time around. I’m going to do whatever I can.”

“I like you,” she said, as if just deciding it.

He laughed. “I’m flattered.”

“Can you sleep here?” Morgan asked, almost asleep.

Vittorio thought for a moment, and nodded.

“I’ll stay here,” he said.

“You’ll be here when I wake up?” she whispered, and just caught his answer as she faded away.

“I’ll be here when you wake,” he said. “Get some rest.”

**Author's Note:**

> I tried a bit of Italian. Hopefully Google Translate doesn't let me down.
> 
> Morgan and Vittorio are quoting the Annuncation: Luke, chapter 1, verses 30 and 38. Morgan quotes the angel Gabriel, and Vittorio gives part of Mary's response.


End file.
